


live inside a green moment

by feralphoenix



Series: you can only use your own [5]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, DFAB Chara, Disabled Character, Explicit Sexual Content, Other, Size Difference, Spoilers, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 14:21:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6379681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feralphoenix/pseuds/feralphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>You can’t keep your hands to yourself.</i>
</p><p>Or: Chara and Asriel enjoy a brief respite.</p><p>(A side story to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/6203974">the subtle difference between holding a hand and chaining a soul</a>.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	live inside a green moment

**Author's Note:**

> _(here in the dark is where new worlds are born_ – you begin to accept your defeats with your head up and your eyes ahead with grace)
> 
>  
> 
> this is a side story set between the final two scenes of [the subtle difference between holding a hand and chaining a soul](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6203974). it's not Absolutely plot-relevant so you can skip it if you'd like, but it's got enough important character and relationship beats that i thought it merited being added after all. on the other hand, you will probably want to read the aforementioned fic for context.
> 
> chara and asriel are both 21.
> 
> warnings for brief mentions of self-harm and reference to all the unhealthy codependent bullshit typical to this relationship (and which led to this specific situation). they're trying but they still kinda suck.
> 
> wrt the "disabled character" tag, chara has chronic pain (among various other mild-to-moderate chronic health issues) as a result of their poisoning. see [somebody out there needs you](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5431163) for details.
> 
> as for the "xeno" tag, this is pretty softcore for xeno because boss monsters are still mammals, but years and years in homestuck fandom have predispositioned me to be like "two different species having the Exact Same Junk is unrealistic and boring" so... the joy of interspecies relationships... s..hrugs.....

You can’t keep your hands to yourself.

Three weeks. Three weeks of lying next to Asriel and never touching him, three weeks of avoiding him so as not to argue, three weeks without even kissing him. On the one hand, you’re glad that your victory arrived before your self-control crumbled; on the other, it’s been hell.

The door clicks closed softly as you push it. Asriel turns the lamp down to the lowest it will go, the chain melodious. Something flutters in your stomach. Your breath quickens. Your nipples have gone stiff, your heartbeat pulsing between your legs. You’re already wet.

Asriel turns to you, standing at the side of the bed. His pupils are huge and dark.

“Chara,” he murmurs, and a shiver runs through you in response as you start to smile. He has barely to open his arms for you to sail into them.

You slip your hands up under his sweater; he makes a low needy sound at your touch. His fur is silken beneath your palms, the best texture in all the world; you stroke down the length of his back and then up again, spreading your fingers so you can really get his fluffy undercoat in between them. He’s got patches of gold on his chest and there’s longer gold fur in a line from his navel to around the sheath of his cock like your pubes, but aside from that his front is soft and downy. It’s heaven to press yourself into even when you’re not having sex, but when your bare skin is sensitive it’s almost too good to handle.

Asriel lifts his arms, and you push the sweater up for him to slide out of, squirming a little in impatience as he carefully navigates his horns through the fabric. Your breath actually catches in your throat as it hits the floor with a quiet thump.

You can’t keep your hands to yourself. Asriel settles his big palms on either side of your waist, and you reach up to frame his face in your smaller ones, feathering fingertips through his sideburns and the edges of his mane.

“Hi, Chara,” Asriel says softly, smiling a little.

“Hello,” you reply, grinning up at him. He shifts his right hand up to cup the nape of your neck, warm and gentle; you lift yourself up on tiptoe and he leans in to meet you.

You let your eyes drift half-closed as he presses his mouth to yours, card the fingers of one hand through the length of his mane as you cradle his face with the other. You rub your lips against his once, twice—his chest shudders against yours, vibrating through your t-shirt and your sternum all the way down to the burning thing set inside your hips. You’re aching down there already; if you could spare a hand you’d fold it between your legs just for the momentary relief. But Asriel’s shaky breath rolls warm and tender over your cheek, and he opens his mouth to run the tip of his thin soft tongue over your lower lip, and so.

He grazes the line of his front teeth gently, gently over your lip, ticklish, but it’s the heavy eyetooth that bumps the corner of your mouth like a sheathed weapon that sends tingles down your spine, through your breasts and clit. You bare your teeth at him in return, wrinkling up your nose to pull your upper lip back to your gums. And you rumble low in your chest, letting the sound bubble through breath and saliva in the well of your throat to mimic a growl.

It’s only a pale imitation of the full-throated noise Asriel can make when he gets really worked up, but even so his eyes widen, and the bulge his cock makes under his pants twitches a little against your hip. Your own pulse quickens in response.

“That’s so hot,” he mumbles against your lips, and then his mouth drops from yours as he bows his head to nuzzle your throat. His nose touches soft where your pulse thrums hardest, and you slide the hand that had rested along his cheek up to wrap around the base of his horn.

You knew the tongue would be coming, but he runs it along the length of your throat so _reverently_ that you still cry out. It’s stuttered, wordless, inelegant; he licks you over the pulse point again, and then a third time, rubbing hard enough that you _know_ he’s leaving marks, hard enough that you repeat yourself, chin still tilted towards the ceiling. Wetness just keeps welling up in you, slick between your legs when you squirm.

“Come back up here,” you demand, breathless, and drop his horn to tip his jaw back up. It’s _your_ turn to attack—you push your tongue into his mouth, stroking as much of his as you can. He moans into the kiss and your heart quickens.

Your tongue’s too small and your face is too flat to let you really explore Asriel’s mouth the way that he does yours. It’s a little disappointing, but he shudders and whines when you trace the smooth inside of his cheek, and pride and confidence swell in your chest to answer it. You trace the contours of his face with your fingertips, and run your palms down his soft soft fluffy front, humming contentedly into the kiss all the while.

But your hands have barely reached the waistband of his pants before he makes a loud urgent noise into your mouth and pulls back, turning his head away so quickly that his floppy ear baps you in the nose. You yank your hands away, uncertain, but Asriel doesn’t let go of you—he just stands there, panting into the air over your shoulder with his honey-brown eyes all unfocused. His breath seems to steam, even in the warm air of the bedroom.

“Was that not okay?” you ask, hushed.

“No, it was fine, I’m just—gosh,” he says, and meets your gaze sheepishly. “It’s, um, I haven’t really been, uh, doing anything on my own, so if you start, I don’t think I’m going to last for very long.”

You lay your right hand along his cheek, tender, and kiss the tip of his nose. “That’s perfectly fine,” you soothe. “In fact, we’re going to have to devote a lot more time to me soon, so I would feel better getting you taken care of first. And that will give you time to recover before I’m actually ready. Would you be all right with that?”

“Well, golly,” he says, starting to grin. “I’m not going to turn down a proposition like that.”

You kiss him on his teasing nose one more time, and step back to let him shed the rest of his clothes, then find a comfortable seat on the edge of the bed with his legs stretched out before him.

Folding your arms and tilting your head to the side, you consider your options for a moment. Finally, you kneel on the floor in the little triangle of open space between the mattress and his thigh.

His cock is about half-erect, the dark pink head peeping out from the slit in the hood of the sheath—eager and a little shy, like the rest of him. He’s cute. You’re already smiling by the time you realize it.

Asriel shifts, probably embarrassed despite the fact that you’ve been in close quarters with his penis on plenty of occasions over the past few years. It’s silly of him—but then, he’s endearing like this, so you suppose you don’t mind in the end.

You reach over his thigh, careful, and take him in both hands. He sucks in a breath and twitches under your fingers, even though you’re still only touching the less-sensitive sheath; he was right, he _is_ already worked up.

(God, but if you could, you would take him right now. It’s only the knowledge of how much it would hurt the both of you that keeps you where you are, instead of taking your boxers off and pulling yourself up on the bed to straddle his lap. But—it’s fine, really it is. You can be patient a little longer; it will be nice, to celebrate having resolved everything by taking your time.)

Asriel whines when you rub the side of your thumb over the head. This is the only feeling part of him aside from his pads that isn’t covered in fur, but the texture is completely different; it’s exactly the same as the way your clit and the inner folds of your vulva feel under your fingertips when you touch yourself. Soft and sensitive and vulnerable, and wet with need.

You reach back to tuck your hair behind your ears and out of the way, and bow your head to kiss the tip. He makes a soft choked sound, but he holds very, very still; from the corner of your eye you can see him clenching his fists on the sheets to keep his hands busy and away from your hair. Love wells up in you, battering at your ribs from the inside. You kiss him again, and run your tongue along the head. Asriel moans, muffled; you don’t have to look to know he’s shut his mouth tight and scrunched up his face to bear the sensation. You stretch your fingertips out to stroke the soft inner side of his thigh. He flinches under the touch, then relaxes; his moan trails off into a sigh.

Heat gathers under your palms and your lips as he hardens, standing free of the folds of the sheath now gathered at his base. You remember being eighteen and intimidated by the way your fingertips couldn’t quite meet even then when you tried to fit a hand around the shaft. There’s more space between them now; you’re used to it. Nowadays you can find the beauty in the soft tracery of veins along the underside and the slight, slight curve it scribes.

You do wish, you think as you kiss along the side of the shaft and Asriel’s breath shudders above you, that the two of you had worked up the courage to start experimenting a little earlier. By the time you were bold enough to try using your mouth, Asriel had already gotten too big to fit. You would have liked to at least attempt giving him a proper blowjob at least once, just to see if you and he would have enjoyed it.

Oh well. This will have to be enough. And you do love being able to make him gasp and cry out with just a well-placed kiss or two, as you are now.

“C—Chara,” Asriel chokes out, and you pause leaning back in, tilting your chin up just enough to look at his face. He’s disheveled, still breathing so hard that his mane and ear puff a little; you’re very pleased. “I, um, maybe switch to just hands now, I think I’m about t-to—”

“All right,” you say, easing away. There’s a bright pang of pain in your lower back, and as the pressure on your knees shifts, you realize that this was maybe not the best choice of position without a pillow to kneel on. “Will you help me up on the mattress, please?”

“Okay,” Asriel says between gasps. He pries one hand off the bedclothes to offer an arm; you untangle one of yours from his cock to lever yourself up on it and sit next to him on the bed instead.

He holds you tight against his side, lungs going like a bellows, as you press in close—pumping the shaft with one hand, rubbing circles over the head with the other. He moans into your hair—clutches your hip so hard that you can feel the points of his claws even through your shirt—then yelps just once, and he pulses in your hands and comes hot and messy into your cupped palm.

You let go.

Asriel shudders, breathing deep. You straighten up slowly in the crook of his arm, pressing your cheek up against his fur.

“Are you alright?” you ask him, soft.

“I’m okay,” he says at length, shivering. “I just—really missed this.”

You close your eyes and smile into his side. It feels like the whole of your skin is thrumming with the heat of him. “I did too.”

Asriel swallows hard, a movement that goes straight through him and makes you shiver. “I’ll get you something to—to clean up with. Are _you_ okay?” And he leans away from you, craning his chin down to look you over. “Gosh, Chara, your poor knees.”

You spare a critical glance for the poor knees in question. They’re red and a bit puffy, but that’s all. “They’ve had worse,” you decide aloud.

“Let’s rest them for a little while just in case,” Asriel suggests, which—is fine with you, actually. Just because they get a lot more painful in a real flare-up doesn’t mean you feel like courting one. “Now it’s your turn to get spoiled, anyway.”

Heat rushes through your face, and you start to grin. “It is, isn’t it.”

“Sit here and wait just a minute,” he tells you, and you do; he brings you a tissue to clean your hand off with, and while you busy yourself at that, he kneels on the floor before you and undoes the ankle braces you’d decided to leave on.

His touch tickles, and you bite down on a giggle as he carefully pulls the straps loose and eases each brace off in turn. He skims the pads of his thumbs over the bones of your ankles, and your legs jerk a little, reflexive. You wait for his next move—for him to keep touching your legs or get back up, to ask you to take your shirt off, anything—but it doesn’t come.

You realize that his gaze is on your shins, and that his expression is tense, worried. You tilt your head and follow his stare, but there’s nothing out of the ordinary that you can see here.

“Asriel?” you ask, uncertain, and reach out to touch his face lightly. “Are you alright? Should we stop here?”

“I’m okay,” he says, and sighs. He lifts a careful hand from your ankle and traces one of the little scratches that curves around your calf. It’s red and puffy, beaded with tiny scabs, but it’s already closed over and it stopped stinging only a few minutes after you got it. You have a lot of tiny scrapes and cuts like that—you pick up one or two every day in training, and you’ve ceased to think of them as a big deal, seeing as they heal so quickly. But there are a lot of fresh ones today.

“Ree,” you say—not sure what else to say. You run your fingertips through his fur. It was over—it’s all settled now, or that’s what you wanted to think.

“I’m sorry,” Asriel says. He kisses the scratch right under your knee, and there’s a little spark of green under his lips. His magic sinks into you like the sensation of soft cotton under your fingers, and the tiny, tiny wound smooths over into healthy skin right before your eyes. He shifts to brush his mouth against another one—again the gentle little spell, again the softening of upraised wound into neat healed scar.

You stroke his mane, struggling to find your words. “Ree, it’s okay.”

“It’s not,” he replies, stubborn. “I can’t take back the things I said and did. Healing the marks that are left over, it won’t erase the fact of what I did. But I don’t know what else to do. I—I want to be better to you, Chara. A better partner. Can I—try to start here?”

It really doesn’t matter to you—the scratches aren’t an inconvenience; they hurt you less than your flare-ups do. You’ve hurt yourself, purposely, a lot worse than this. You’ll live if you have to wait for them to heal. And he’s right that healing the damage to your skin won’t fix the fact that his spells put it there in the first place, or all the myriad little ways he wounded your heart while you were arguing.

But the helplessness and frustration in his voice—that desperation for something, anything, that he can do—you recognize that. So you lean down to kiss Asriel’s forehead.

“Yes, you can,” you tell him. “I appreciate the apology, and that you want to try. Thank you.” You kiss his forehead again. “I love you.”

He waits for you to sit up, and takes a deep breath.

“Gosh, I hope this doesn’t tickle or itch too much,” he says. “If you get uncomfortable, tell me to stop, okay?”

“I will,” you promise him, and smile.

Asriel takes his hands off your legs, and you’re disappointed to lose his touch for only a split second, because when he brings his padded palms together something glows between them. He opens his hands gently, gently, and you gasp: He’s spun a miniature galaxy between his fingers, soft and shining green.

He lets them go, pale and glowing, flickering like lazy fireflies—or like your increasingly distant memories of snow. His palms, warm with your body heat and his and the spell he’s released, settle once more on the outsides of your calves.

The little stars bead on your skin, and sink into your scratches. They don’t tickle; they’re soft points of heat, like warm wax. They smell like lightning and freshly rained-on wild herbs. You wonder if they would have a taste, if you caught one on your tongue. What they would taste like, if anything. You imagine the best kinds of mint candy—those soft comforting peppermints you used to steal in fistfuls from those baskets with the “take one!” signs and hide in your pockets for later, the ones that would melt on your tongue and make you feel better. They have the same tenderness to them, and they’re better than candy because even when they melt into you that sense of comfort _lingers._

But Asriel keeps his spun constellations hovering around your legs, so there’s no room for you to surreptitiously open your mouth and catch one. Too bad.

Asriel himself waits until he seems sure that his spell is working, and shifts his hands around to just under your knees, pushing gently at the inside of your shins. You open them for him, suddenly aware of your pulse loud in your throat and the pleasant nervy feeling in your lower belly.

He bends his head down, softly kisses the sensitive inner side of your left thigh just above the knee. It tickles. His mouth is warm, and the kiss is chaste, but there’s that long low answering pull in you, and you have to fight not to squirm. He shifts to your right leg, kissing a green spark into a cut just a bit higher up on your thigh. You lift your left hand to press your knuckles to your mouth, desperately swallowing the whine that keeps trying to bubble up.

There are no tiny wounds beneath his lips when he inches up again. He nuzzles your bare skin—the contact is so brief, like a butterfly landing and then fluttering away again—then kisses, firmer and longer—then there’s the would-be-innocent little flicker of pink tongue, warm and wet and oh _god._

Your breathing is ragged. Asriel’s hands are gentle, you could push him away at any time if you wanted to, but he’s moved them to hold your thighs open. He’s so close—his nose is only a few inches away from your crotch, and it occurs to you to hope fervently that you’re not so wet that you’ve left a damp spot on your boxers for him to notice. His breath rushes warm against your skin, a little fast; his eyes are too dark, the pupils blown out.

He leans forward and pushes his warm nose between your legs, and it’s—it’s gentle but your legs and your back coil in and your head falls back and there’s this low hoarse moan tearing out of your throat, and oh, _oh—_

The climax is way too short to be really satisfying—maybe it’s just that Asriel only touched you so briefly or that you’ve been aroused for so long without relief, but you can’t hold on to the sensation and let it thrill through you. But waves of heat swamp you in its wake, leaving you shuddering and breathing hard.

Asriel straightens up and waits for you to ride out the aftershocks, gaze steady on your overwarm face the whole time. You take a deep breath to try to settle yourself, catch his face in both hands, and crush your mouth to his.

He parts your lips with his tongue and slides it into your mouth in the same motion, and you make a _very_ loud and embarrassing noise as he uses it to trace the underside of yours. When he lets you go, your vision’s blurry; you have to blink and shake your head to get your eyes to focus properly.

Asriel’s breath is rapid and shallow as he stares you down nose-to-nose.

“Chara,” he says, this tiny timid little whisper. He rests both hands on your waist. “Can I take your shirt off?”

“Okay,” you tell him.

He backs up to give you room to raise your arms; when he closes his fingertips around the hem of your shirt he keeps his grip delicate. His fur tickles your sides as he lifts the shirt up and over your head; you slip your arms loose and shake your head to straighten your hair out. The air is cool against your bare skin, and you shiver a little.

Asriel sets your shirt down further down the mattress, much more politely than the careless way he tossed his own clothes off. He looks back to you, lifts his left hand, and then hesitates for a moment before tapping the pad of his forefinger lightly, lightly against the side of your breast. “Are you alright with taking this off too?”

“Yes,” you tell him, and shrug out of your bra straps. The hooks in back are too small for his big fingers, and he always seems to manage to catch his claws in the fabric when he tries to unfasten it, so you always have to do it yourself. You don’t mind. It’s the one advantage of your human hands, stiff as they sometimes are—all you have to do is pinch the back of the band a little, like so, and it comes right off.

Asriel stares at your chest like he’s had some kind of holy revelation, and you bite your lip to keep from smiling. It’s so silly of him. It’s only been three weeks since the last time he saw you naked. You fold your bra up and throw it lazily in the direction of the laundry basket, which is about the least romantic thing you can think to do in this situation. It bounces off the side and lands on the floor, which figures.

“You’re so beautiful,” Asriel says, lifting a hand—he hesitates before he actually sets it on your side, giving you enough time to tell him to stop or push him away if you’re not ready. You reach out and pull him into contact with your skin instead, sucking your breath in at the warmth of his pads along the side of your breast.

“You’re a sap,” you tell him, fond, and touch his face lightly.

Asriel doesn’t make any retort. He’s looking at the middle of your chest now—at the locket that lies warm on your breastbone, where you’ve had it under your shirt all day.

“You still kept it on,” he observes.

“Of course,” you tell him, and reach out to touch the matching heart that still sits on his chest, half-buried in his ruff. “I never take it off. I just didn’t want it to get in the way while I exercise, that’s all.”

He smiles just a little, but something about the soft set of his mouth is wistful, and his eyes are overly bright.

“I thought—” he begins, and then laughs a little. “Never mind.”

You lift your hands to frame his face and trace his cheekbones, catching tears on your fingertips. No matter how big he gets, he’ll always be a crybaby, but—that’s fine. You want him to be able to keep his tenderness, his vulnerability, no matter how many years pass.

“I love you,” you tell him, and scoot forward on the edge of the bed to wrap your arms around his neck and press up against him. He’s warm against your front, and you sigh happily at the sensation of his fur on your bare skin.

“I love you, too,” Asriel says, and his arms come up around your back to hold you close. You sigh and close your eyes. “…Chara?”

“Yes?”

“I want to—” He swallows, and then goes on. “I want to make you feel good. Can I, um, is it okay if we keep going?”

You smile and nuzzle into his shoulder. “Of course.”

He traces patterns of heat down your back and kisses your temple, and you sit up for him. Asriel frames your waist with his hands and slowly brings them up to your chest, claws carefully lifted away from your skin—you’re watching all the while, but you still squeak aloud when his thumbs sweep up over your nipples. You can’t help it: His touch sears all through you, leaving your mind blank, cleansed. All there is now are his warm gentle hands on your body and the answering roar of want in you.

Asriel kneads your chest with careful fingertips; you grab his upper arms and clamp your mouth shut to keep yourself from throwing your head back and whining out loud. You’re fever-sensitive, except that Asriel’s touch translates not into pain but bright pulses of wet heat between your legs. _Why_ you feel it there you might never fully understand—human bodies are as much a mystery to monsters as they are to you, there’s no one who could teach you—but it feels so good you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Your heart’s beating so fast,” Asriel murmurs, stilling his fingers and leaning in to press his nose to your sternum.

You open your mouth to answer him and a _whimper_ comes out, of all things. Heat rushes to your face, your ears, your chest. You swallow and try again: “Ree—don’t stop.”

“Chara,” he says, “oh my god,” and he kisses the root of your left breast right over your heart, squeezing gently with both hands. Your breath stutters. You think you’re whining.

There are a lot of things you enjoy about your chest being small—though it _is_ kind of funny to look at sometimes when Asriel is touching you like this, because your breasts are less than a handful for him, he’s so big. But his large hands mean that when he rolls his palms over you—like this—the warmth in them, the sensation of the thick pads, their toughness and their give and the way they feel smooth until he presses them to skin sensitive enough to pick up their fine grooves—that swamps all of you at once, it’s so good, it’s overwhelming.

He drops his right hand down to lie over your ribs and dips his mouth down to trace his tongue over your left nipple, and you reach up and make fists on his horns and try hard not to yell. Your hips want to roll, but there’s nothing yet to press yourself to but mattress; you have to stay put and not climb into Asriel’s lap because he’s naked, grinding against him like this could hurt him—

The thumb of his left hand rolls over your right nipple, tender and insistent, and he folds your left into his mouth so softly that his teeth don’t even press down against your skin.

“Asriel,” you’re saying, breathless, high-pitched, “Asriel, Asriel _Asriel_ Ree oh god—”

He hums into your chest, presses down, gets his awful soft wonderful tongue up against the base of your nipple and—and _rubs_ it wet and quick instead of sucking like you expect and _there_ it is, hot and scintillating and intense—here we are. _Here_ we are. You let go of the cry you’ve been holding in, and it’s loud and your voice cracks but you don’t care, you don’t care.

Your hands slide limp from around his horns as the orgasm ebbs, just as Asriel eases softly off your chest, and he catches them in his and holds them, silent, waiting for you to stop panting. You squeeze—or try to, you’re so shaky, _damn_ —and he squeezes back, careful. Your whole ribcage is still hitching. You try to take deep breaths. Asriel ducks in without releasing your hands and noses your sweaty hair out of your eyes. It’s such a little gesture, but your body hums with it, a light and weightless sensation radiating from where his mouth brushed your forehead.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

Deep breaths. “Yes,” you tell him. “Definitely.”

He looks you over, probably taking in just how shaky you are, thinking how worked-up you have to have been to come just from his touching your chest (the answer is _very_ —it’s happened before, just not often). Finally: “Do you want to stop here, or should we keep going?”

“Keep going,” you say, “just—give me a moment.”

“Okay,” he says, and kisses your forehead again. You want to purr.

One more deep breath. You feel more aware, more present now, less overwhelmed. It would be nice to have him keep touching you like this, not unbearable the way it is while you’re still overstimulated. Okay.

You shift up and kiss the tip of his nose. “I’m ready.”

Asriel swallows visibly, his ruff shifting with the movement.

“All right,” he says. “Lay down and let’s get you out of this.”

You can’t help yourself. You start to grin.

Asriel supports you as you ease back onto your elbows, leaning softly backwards until you lie on the mattress. The sheets are cool against your flushed skin, enough to make you shiver, gooseflesh prickling up over your arms. You lift your feet up off the floor, relaxing into Asriel’s hands as he shifts you towards the middle of the mattress.

“Um,” he says from above you. “Do you want a pillow?”

Heat clutches deep in you, and you feel your face starting to flush at the meaning behind the question. _Do you want to watch._

“I think I’m all right without one,” you answer. “I can reach one if I change my mind.”

He ducks his chin, bashful. “Okay,” he says. “Can I…”

You shift your weight to your upper back and your feet, lifting your hips off the mattress. “Go ahead.”

“Okay,” he says again, and his claws tickle your hips when he folds his fingertips under the waistband of your boxers, pulling them up your thighs and then over your knees and down your shins with a studious slowness that makes your hair prickle in the nicest of ways. Once the light green fabric pools at your ankles, you lift your feet so that Asriel can put the shorts with your shirt.

He turns back to you, hazy-eyed with love and desire—and then his eyebrows go up and he chuckles, gesturing to your bright red boyshorts.

“You were wearing _more_ underwear beneath your underwear?” he asks, incredulous.

You raise your eyebrows back at him. “Asriel, I hardly have the confidence to traipse around the entire underground in a pair of underpants. It’s called _exercise wear.”_

“Whatever you say,” he tells you, grinning wide, and appends _“Dork.”_

You give him the finger, starting to laugh despite yourself. “I am not a dork. I am _adorkable._ I am cute and precious and strong and you should appreciate me. I’m adorkabadass.”

He catches your hand and kisses your upraised finger, and you gasp before you can stop yourself, face probably the same color as your underwear. “You’re my _favorite_ dork,” he says. “I cannot _believe_ you just memed on me when we’re trying to have sex.”

“What’s beneath the underwear? _More underwear,”_ you say in your best theatrical cartoon bad guy impression. “It wasn’t actually intentional, but I like it. I’ll take it.”

 _“Dork,”_ he reiterates yet again.

You shrug at him.

He scootches back up to your side. “Okay, can I get you out of these too?”

“Be my guest,” you say drily.

Asriel rests his palms on your thighs (you very carefully do not squirm at his body heat on your bare skin), gazing down at you fondly.

It’s obvious the moment he notices—his pupils dilate; his breath catches. “Chara,” he says, reverent. _“Wow.”_

This time you do squirm. You want to protest, a little, that you’ve already come twice, that it’s been so long, that he’s beautiful and you want him; what does he expect? But you just part your knees, a little, because even though you’re too embarrassed for words you want him to look at the soaked patch between your legs and know it’s there because of him.

Asriel swallows hard. “I won’t make you wait much longer,” he promises, and something in your belly swoops as he slides your boyshorts off with every bit as much respect as he did with the boxers.

You bite your lower lip. You don’t know when your breathing got so rough. Asriel kneels on the mattress before you, skims his palms over the sensitive insides of your thighs as he spreads them, and you think as he bows his head to kiss your bare stomach that the low light suits him. It softens the already-soft round outlines of him, illuminates the streaks of gold on his chest and arms while casting his white fur into shades of cream. Squinting against the low light, in between the kisses he dips to press into your lower belly and through the frame of your open legs, you can see that he’s half hard again, the slit of his sheath open around the red tip of his cock. Your heart is beating too fast.

Asriel settles between your legs, rests his hands at the base of your thighs to pull your folds open with the sides of his thumbs while keeping his claws and itchy fur well away from anything too sensitive—and then his tongue sweeps warm and gentle over the length of you to linger on your clit and you grab the sheets with all the force you can and you moan aloud because _god, god, god._

He licks another long heavy stripe up the sensitive inner lips of your vulva and you twist your upper body and _keen_ because his _tongue,_ his damned blessed tongue, just rough enough to send sparks of light fizzing all through you, soft and slow and careful as he seeks out every sensitive spot. His breath is warm and shuddery against your pubes and he hums up into you, a ticklish buzz that aches and whites your mind out. You want to cant your hips up into his face—his hands on your thighs are all that keep you still.

Asriel rolls his tongue over your clit again and you arch your back, squeezing your eyes closed to shut out the swaying ceiling. You can see stars again, feel orgasm advancing on you steadily, and you shake and cry out and try to press yourself up into his warm hands, his wet mouth. He licks at your entrance and you feel it burn all the way up through your spine, incandescent like fireworks. The tip of his tongue slips into you, fluttery, ticklish, and you bow up off the mattress with his name on your lips in a fevered litany. You can feel your toes start to curl.

It’s like teasing a flower open, what he’s doing to you. Every time he licks into you his tongue goes deeper and it soothes the aching thing in you and pleasure pounds in your fingertips and the soles of your feet but it’s not _enough_ yet, your body’s unfolding and there are supernovas flaring behind your eyelids but climax is still just out of your reach and you can’t stand much more of this—

You make some embarrassing high-pitched noise as he pulls his tongue back slowly, dragging it along the vulnerable inside of you so that you have to bare your teeth to keep hold of yourself—the tip has barely slid clear of your vagina and you’ve barely relaxed when he licks quick and _mischievous_ almost at your clit and you yell and shake and push against his hands as you come.

Asriel brings you down with gentle and diligent strokes, letting you ride the climax out until you’re stretched out limp and panting and relaxed on the mattress. You open one eye hesitantly, then the other. Your vision’s blurry. You blink and shift, trying to push yourself up so that you can see properly.

He takes this as his cue to ease off and sit up, giving you a clear view of him: He looks pleased with himself, pink tongue still flicking up and over his lips periodically. The short fur around his muzzle is wet and clumped with his saliva and your sweat and come. He’s got his hands on the sheets, fingers clenched. The reason for this is immediately evident—his cock arches free of its sheath, red and wet and hopeful.

You try to take stock of yourself—your jumble of limbs, your scrambled mind. You’re tired, sure, a little. But you’re also determined, and you’re pretty sure you can still go one more round before all you’ll want to do is cuddle and sleep.

So you push yourself up with a groan. Your skin shines with sweat in the lamplight.

“Are you okay?” Asriel asks you.

“’M fine,” you tell him, and smile. “More than fine. That was—it was very good, Ree. Thank you.”

He grins and shrugs, bashful. “If you don’t want to keep going, that’s fine,” he says. “I can just—I can take care of me. I mean—you’re a lot more open than when we started but it’s still been three weeks. We can put this part off until tomorrow if you’d rather.”

“No,” you tell him. “I want to keep going, I—” (here you blush, but soldier on nevertheless) “—I want you inside me. I want us both to feel good.”

He takes a deep breath. Reaches out to take your hand. “Okay,” he says.

You rise up on your knees as he sits back, and he holds out his hands to help lift you as you swing your leg up to straddle his lap. You rest your right hand on his shoulder and take a deep breath.

“Ready?” Asriel asks, quiet.

You nod.

“Should I…?” he begins; you shake your head.

“I want to do it, if that’s okay,” you tell him.

“That’s fine,” he assures you. “Take your time. I mean, we’ve got all night.”

You giggle. “Neither one of us is going to last that long, Ree.”

“We have tomorrow night too,” he reminds you, helpful.

“I suppose.” You reach down and take hold of the shaft; he gasps beneath you, twitching a little between your fingers. Careful, careful, you lower your hips until his heat is pressed right up against you, and knees stinging just a little from the slow deliberate movement, you keep going.

The tip sinks into you easily enough—it’s just the broad rim that makes you wince, even after all that preparation. He’s very nearly too big for you—it’s like being cleaved open one fraction of an inch at a time: The painful stretch, the great bruising girth that holds you open, the heat of him like something molten.

Asriel whimpers. You chew your lip: “Sorry,” you gasp.

“It’s okay,” he says, voice tight with pain. He’s nearly too big for you, but you’re nearly too narrow for him—this is as every bit as awkward for him too. “Don’t push yourself too hard.”

His big hands run over and over your back and shoulders, and you match that rhythm with your breath as you lower yourself steadily, burying him in you. Then—there’s a near-painful pressure deep inside you, and you relax, letting your forehead fall to rest on his chest.

Asriel shifts his hands down to support your thighs. His pulse is rapid inside you, but he holds his hips perfectly still, waiting for you.

You take another deep breath and lift your hand from the base of his cock to rest it on his other shoulder. “You alright?” you murmur.

“Mm,” he says, hushed. “You’re really warm. You’re—gosh, you’re so wet. I’m okay. Whenever you’re ready.”

“Okay,” you say, and “okay” again, and you brace your legs against his hands and lift your hips.

Asriel gasps, his stomach fluttering under you, fur tickling as you let yourself sink back down, stroke yourself against his cock. There’s still some protest when you move, but heat sweeps in after it, and low moans keep escaping your throat every time you breathe out, every time he presses against the spots that feel best.

You rock against him once—twice—three times more, and then your knees wobble and refuse to straighten, leaving you shivering, flush up to his chest as you breathe shallowly and squirm for purchase.

“Chara?” Asriel says.

“Knees,” you manage. “Can’t move.”

“Oh,” he says, and then: “Do you want to—”

“Keep going,” you interrupt. “Please let’s—I just can’t move, you have to.”

“Okay,” he says. A pause, presumably as he considers his options. “Okay, hang on a minute.”

He lets go of your legs, wrapping his right arm around your waist as he stretches out his left for—the pillows, you note as you turn your head to the side. He drags three close in a messy pile, and leans forward to lay you down on the mattress with the pillows under your hips. The pressure inside you changes, and you whine; for one dizzy moment Asriel is kneeling over you, his hands on either side of your upper arms as he holds your gaze.

You start to giggle a little. “Try not to squish me,” you manage to get out, breathless. “There’s a lot of you.”

He lifts himself back up—folds your thighs in closer to your body so that your ankles frame his upper arms, his hands finding a warm and steady grip on your hips. He rolls against you once, shallow, experimental, and you gasp. “Is this okay?”

“It feels nice,” you tell him. “Keep going.”

Asriel nods, shaky, and thrusts into you—gentle, smooth. His eyes start to shutter, and his locket sways against his chest, glittery in the low light. “Chara,” he says—moans, like he’s cradling your name with his voice. He pushes into you again, filling your vision with stars—the springs are creaking under you, soft wet noises rising as your bodies meet and come apart. “Oh, Chara, I missed you. I missed you so much.”

You rise up to meet him as best you can, running your own hands over your chest and stomach since his are occupied. Heat’s building up inside you again—merciless and too slow, for all that Asriel’s shuddering now above you, twitching deep in you and scattering flickers of light across your optic nerves.

He shudders so hard you can feel it through your whole body when your fingers get down far enough to flutter them over your clit, brushing the shaft of him just briefly enough that it doesn’t burn you. “Chara—”

You swallow, try to get control of your voice. Everything is subsumed in the heat of him, the pressure, his busy hips. “Yeah?”

“Chara, I’m—I think I’m—”

And you can’t keep your hands to yourself. You reach out to run your hands over his face, his arms, his chest—his damp fur brushing your palms sends a tingling all up through your hands and forearms, like pins and needles but pleasurable. Blood thuds in your breasts, your stomach, your clit, your vulva. You can’t stand another second of this.

“Ree,” you say, breathless, messy—“Ree, it’s okay, it’s okay.”

“Chara,” he sobs under your hands, and you moan and clamp down on him and you’re coming, pleasure roaring through you, tidal and bright.

He cries out and his cock thumps inside you once, twice, and he rolls his hips and shudders and shudders and there’s wet heat spreading in you, burning you clean. You coast, weightless, the world narrowed down to you and Asriel rocking together.

You let your body go slack as your climax releases you. Asriel balances over you shakily, releasing your waist to support himself with both hands—for a moment you’re afraid that his arms will just give out and he’ll fall on top of you—but he rolls his hips back and slides out of you with a groan of effort, and laboriously lies down on his side next to you.

So you roll to the side, press your face into his chest. You still feel fizzy all over, effervescent.

“Hi,” he says, carding shaky claws through your hair.

“Hello,” you tell him, muffled into his fur.

A pause. “You okay?”

“A little sore,” you answer honestly. “Otherwise great.” You breathe in, breathe out. “You?”

“Tired,” he says. “But I’m happy.” He strokes your hair for a while. “Should I—get up and get your pain meds?”

You consider this. Tomorrow morning will be hell if you don’t catch your cramps ahead of time—it’s what you get for prioritizing how nice it feels to have him come inside you over how little you enjoy the aftermath. It _is_ your own fault, but Asriel will feel guilty for it, so. “If you’re all right standing so soon.”

“If I don’t do it now I’ll fall asleep,” he replies, laughing a little. The mattress creaks as he pushes himself up, stepping over you to get to the edge of the bed. You roll into the warm spot he left—it’s drier than where you were laying.

He’s back the next moment, a warm hand on your shoulder. You open your eyes and extend a hand for the pills—he passes them to you, and you swallow them dry. He stretches out next to you again, and you bask in his closeness, his warmth.

“Asriel,” you say, reaching out to stroke his chest.

He lifts your wandering hands to his mouth, kisses your knuckles. “What is it?”

“I missed you too,” you say.

“Well, golly,” he replies, sounding pleased. “I’m glad.” A pause. “I love you.”

You snuggle in close, shameless, more at ease than you’ve been in a long, long time. “I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> hey check it out... this fic got fanart from [dontlookitsfilthy](http://dontlookitsfilthy.tumblr.com/post/155230601062/)!! (image and site both very much nsfw, but then if you're at work or underage, what are you doing here in the first place lmao.) thank you!!!


End file.
